


Cold Hands

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Purgatory, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:32:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never realize how much you appreciate Advil Cold & Flu until you can't just run out and buy some. Or, life in Purgatory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Purgatory, pre-S8. Based on [this prompt](http://hoodie-time.livejournal.com/735010.html?thread=9797922#t9797922): Dean gets sick in purgatory, (not anything supernatural just a fever and whatnot) he feels miserable and Benny takes care of him. Awww. Gen or Dean/Benny.

Purgatory sucks donkey balls. Not that Dean expected a sealed, supernatural cemetery to be sunshine and rainbows, but really, Purgatory is ….

"Huh."

"Hm?" Benny angles his head back toward Dean's voice.

Dean stops walking and looks around. The forest stretches on forever, a tranquil, picturesque paradise worthy of a postcard. At night, it's all blood, bone, and battle. During the day, it's a different kind of horror — endless, quiet, and inescapable. Prisoners in Paradise.

"I was gonna say Purgatory is hell, but that's a strange comparison."

"Aye," Benny says, turning to look at him. "You've been to Hell, brother. Was it anything like this?"

Something, somewhere, roars. Despite the distance, the trees around them still rustle from the force. Dean closes his eyes until the forest quiets again. Benny probably didn't even blink. "Hell was blood and fear, bone and flesh. Hell was about torture and torment and twisting images of people you cared about."

Benny quirks an eyebrow. "And Purgatory?"

"War," Dean says. "It's war."

The vampire stares at him for a long moment. "Worst kind of war, too. No reasons, no victories, no ends. Well," he concedes, "not for you. There's an end for you here, brother, but I reckon you won't enjoy it."

That thing in the distance roars again, closer now. Dean's grip tightens around his new blade. "So let's keep moving."

***

"Dinner is served," Benny says, tossing a bloodied lump of — something — at Dean's feet. Whatever it is, it's brown and gooey and smells fucking putrid.

"I am not eating that."

The vampire shrugs. "No skin off my hide. Gotta say my feelings are hurt, though, seeing as how I hunted it down for you."

"Your feelings can bite me." Dean pokes at the corpse with his toe. "What the hell _is_ this?"

"You don't wanna know," Benny advises. "But it's protein. Build a fire and cook it through, betcha it tastes just like chicken."

The smell of death is caught in his throat now; Dean chokes and turns away. "Christ, if there was ever a time to go vegan …"

After a minute, it becomes obvious that Dean's not going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Benny heaves a heavy sigh, grabbing his kill and chucking it unceremoniously into the underbrush. "Wasted food. Hope you're happy."

"Ecstatic," Dean croaks.

Benny fixes him with a stern look. "You have to eat something, brother. I know this place dulls your cravings, but that don't mean they aren't there. You can't keep eating nothing but the blue flowers. There ain't enough nutrients in them for that, long-term."

The genuine concern in the vampire's voice makes Dean uncomfortable. He fidgets beneath Benny's gaze, scratching the back of his neck with one hand. "I didn't know you cared," he says, trying for cavalier.

"I do care; you're my ticket out of this place." Benny grins at him, showing his fangs. "Now I'm hungry, so if you'll excuse me …" 

"Yeah," Dean says, and hunkers down to wait.

"Oh," Benny says over his shoulder, "and I'll bring you back some flowers."

***

The recurring nausea is easy to explain away: it's _Purgatory_ ; everything is gross. He lives and breathes bloody battles day and night. He is constantly on the run and sleeps in the mud. The nights are cold and he hasn't had a proper bath in god knows how long. In short, wanting to puke all over Purgatory? Totally understandable.

But when he kneels in front of the river for a drink, he actually feels like he's going to throw up. He's overcome with lightheadedness, his cheeks start to tingle and his throat constricts. Dean shovels frigid water into his mouth, hoping it will calm his system. When the feeling passes, he closes his eyes and counts to ten.

"You all right?" Benny calls from further up the bank.

Dean stands up too quickly, but manages not to sway. His hands are frozen; he barely feels his fingers when he balls them into fists.

***

They march at first light. They always march at first light, no matter how late they stop for the night. At first it was always Dean shaking Benny awake, usually making a smart-ass remark about the idea of a vampire being up with the sun. But when Benny toes him gently in the ribs, Dean has to crawl his way back to consciousness. His eyelids are heavy and even the first rays of the waking sun are too much.

"Time to go," Benny says.

Dean says, "Yeah." But he doesn't move.

Benny waits. Dean's not sure how long, but the vampire has to nudge him awake again. "Already gave you a cordial invitation."

"Coming," Dean insists, but he can't make himself sit up. He shivers, the ground beneath him cold and hard, siphoning off the last shreds of his body heat. His hands are still frozen.

Benny drops down on one knee. He says something, but Dean barely hears it through the fog. Then the vampire's ice-cold hand is on his forehead, and Dean hisses at the contact. He recoils, curling in on himself, and then Benny's voice speaks again more clearly. "You're feverish."

Dean steels himself through a violent shudder. "F-fucking flowers," he manages, and Benny laughs.

"It ain't the flowers, brother." There's some rustling, and then something warm and heavy drapes over him. He cracks one eye open and realizes it's Benny's coat. "It's just being human."

Being human sucks, Dean decides.

***

The second time he wakes up, he feels even worse. The urge to throw up is back; Dean cranes his neck to stretch out and breathe some fresh air. This is when he realizes he's sitting propped up against Benny. The vampire's got both arms around his bundled form, one hand holding something cold and wet to his forehead. The nausea passes, leaving cramped, sore muscles in its wake. He bites his lip to stifle a groan, shifting in Benny's embrace.

"You awake, or is this another dream?"

Dean blinks, registering the crackling fire in front of them. He can feel its heat, a counterpoint to the damp rag Benny's using to dab his face. "Awake," he says, voice cracking. "The fire …"

"Risky, I know." Benny wipes down his face and neck. Dean tries to turn away from it, but he's too weak and Benny means business. "I had to do something fast. No time to make a real pelt, and I didn't think you'd appreciate a blanket made of freshly stripped monster hide."

Dean does groan this time, turning his face into Benny's neck. "Good call."

The vampire chuckles. "You feel up to some water, brother? Make sure you're certain; I got no way to bring it to you, so that means we gotta go for a walk."

Dean doesn't want to move at all, ever, but he knows plenty of liquid is what the doctor would order. Getting better as fast as possible is his priority. They're at war, and he's a liability at the moment. "Sounds good," he says, with confidence he doesn't feel.

"Okay." Benny tosses the rag aside. It looks like a strip torn from Dean's button-down. He stares at it while making a totally abortive attempt to help Benny bundle him up in the vampire's coat. He can't help it; his limbs are heavy and every movement feels like he has to swim through molasses. By the time he's dressed for the trip, he's exhausted and Benny's the one who did all the work.

Trying to stand is a disaster all on its own. Benny drags him to his feet more than once, but every time, Dean's legs crumple beneath his weight and almost send him face-first into the fire. Finally, Benny grumbles something unintelligible and scoops him up like a damsel in distress.

"I won't tell if you won't," the vampire murmurs.

"Trust me," Dean mutters. "Not a word." He watches the fire slowly disappear as Benny starts hiking down to the river.

"Try and stay awake awhile," Benny says. "If I have to fight, I'm dropping you like a sack of rocks, tellin' you now."

He actually falls asleep during the hike back, but Benny never mentions it so neither does he.

***

The sixth time he wakes up, he's straining against Benny's hold, screaming against Benny's hand. Benny takes it in stride — keeping him still, keeping him silent.

All Dean can think about is how fucking cruel it is to have nightmares about Hell, then wake up in Purgatory.

***

The day after that, Dean manages to hobble down to the river and back, leaning heavily on Benny. It's progress, but he's still grateful to lie down by the fire again. He must drift off, because next thing he knows, Benny is shaking him awake.

"No." Dean scrunches his face up and turns away from the offered blue flower.

Benny sighs, then moves on to tough love. He rolls Dean back over and grabs his chin. "You aren't turning your nose up at the only thing you'll eat," he says firmly. "Eat it, or I'll go find something you really won't like and make you eat _that._ "

Dean glares at him, petulant, but finally relents. He opens his mouth, taking the crunchy flower from Benny's dirty fingers. It tastes mildly like honey, but it's cold and dry and he chews like a cow before he can bear swallowing it. Benny makes him eat four more.

"You'll thank me when you're back to decapitating monsters," Benny assures him, stretching out next to him.

Dean makes a noncommittal sound, shifting so Benny can spoon him, pillowing his head on the vampire's outstretched arm. Benny's cold, but the fire is still warm. Dean's comfortable between them.

***

When Dean wakes up, the first rays of the sun are peeking through the trees. The fire died down during the night, leaving the rustic smell of ash around their campsite. He's not that cold, though; Benny's still there, one arm curled tight around his middle.

He feels like a new man. As gently as he can manage, he pulls away from Benny to test that theory. He sits up slowly, without dizziness or nausea. So far, so good.

Benny rustles to wakefulness. "Dean?" He climbs onto his knees, reaching for Dean's shoulder. His other hand touches Dean's forehead, then his cheek, checking his temperature. "You all right, brother?"

Dean glances down, realizes he's holding Benny's shirt, and lets go. "Yeah," he breathes. "Good as new." He climbs to his feet to demonstrate. "See?"

"Impressive," Benny says, following suit.

"So let's go." Dean jerks his head in the direction of the river. "We've got some ground to cover."

It's four miles before Dean realizes he's still wearing Benny's coat, and another four before he gives it back.

~End.


End file.
